“Yes. Yes, I . . .” Her voice broke, and as Steven had feared, Laura burst into sobs. “I can’t. I loved him. I’ll never, ever love anyone like that again.”

Her cries were heartbreaking. She rushed at Steven, reaching for him, needing him.

Steven had come here intending to be firm with her, even callous if he needed to be, but he saw now that Laura was truly suffering. He pulled her into his arms, and Laura clung to him, weeping into his shoulder.

The weeping was more than grief, Steven knew. It was guilt for her part in the affair, guilt at cuckolding Steven, fear that she’d driven Ronald to his death. Steven carried his own share of guilt.

The door of the room creaked open, and a breath of air entered the stifling room. “Is everything all right?” Rose asked in her voice like soothing rain. “Can I help?”

Chapter Ten

Rose paused on the threshold, torn between pity and jealousy as the woman continued to cry on Steven’s shoulder. She reminded herself she had no right to be jealous, but emotions like that had no sense of their own.

Rose had fully intended to remain in the carriage and let Steven attend to his own business. But she’d been able to see, though the parlor windows, Steven speaking to the widowed Mrs. Ellis, and Mrs. Ellis hurtling herself at Steven. Steven had started in surprise, and by the look on his face had no idea what to do with her. Rose had called for the footman who’d accompanied them and bade him help her from the carriage and to the house.

The woman—Mrs. Ellis—raised her head when she heard Rose’s voice. Her eyes were red-rimmed with weeping, her face blotchy. She wrenched herself away from Steven as though Steven had been clutching her instead of the other way around, and dragged a handkerchief from her pocket.

“Why did you bring her here?” Mrs. Ellis asked piteously. “How could you, Steven?”

Steven’s face was flushed, and he balled his gloved hands to fists and cleared his throat. “May I present Her Grace, the Dowager Duchess of Southdown?” he said stiffly. “My fiancée.”

“What?” Mrs. Ellis raised her head, her voice ragged. “Fiancée? What are you talking about?”

Steven continued to stand rigidly. “If you’d bothered to look at a newspaper the last few days, you’d have seen it splashed everywhere.”

Mrs. Ellis stared at him a moment, then she swung her gaze to the maid who’d followed Rose into the parlor, trying to stop her. “Evans,” she snapped. “Fetch me a newspaper.”

The maid curtseyed then vanished without a word. She was back quickly, newspapers in her hand. She handed one to Mrs. Ellis, face-up to the place that said, Captain S— McB— and his tenacious duchess dine together, then head for the theatre with his illustrious McK— in-laws. The play in question was Medea. One hopes it is not prophetic.

Mrs. Ellis read this, her color changing from red to unhealthy pale. “Oh.” She looked up, not at Rose, but at Steven, and her expression was one of chagrin but also relief—vast relief. How odd. “Steven, forgive me. I had no idea.” She turned to Rose and flushed again. “I’m so sorry, Your Grace.” She sank down to the sofa, the spirit gone out of her.

Rose sat next to her in concern. “Are you all right? Evans, please bring your mistress tea.”

Evans hurried to obey while Steven stood in the center of the room, a masculine pillar in the midst of feminine hysteria.

“Steven, you should have told me,” Mrs. Ellis said, looking up at him, her handkerchief at her eyes again. “I never would have . . .”

“Forget it,” Steven said in a firm voice. “It’s done.”

The tension between them was thick. Rose wished she knew what was going on, but she realized that now was not the time to ask.

“Congratulations.” Mrs. Ellis directed the word first at Steven then at Rose. “I hope you will be happy. I truly do.”

“I intend to be,” Steven answered.

The look he sent Rose seemed to erase all doubt in Mrs. Ellis’s mind. She turned a genuine smile on Rose. “My sincerest apologies, Your Grace. Steven was right—I knew nothing, and only assumed. I think this is wonderful. The best thing that could happen. You’ve brightened my day a bit.” She squeezed Rose’s hand, and Rose smiled back, more to reassure her than anything else.

The tea came. Rose poured a cup for Mrs. Ellis and pushed it into her hand but declined any herself.

“We have much to do,” Rose said, rising. “Everything is very rushed, unfortunately.” She took Mrs. Ellis’s hand. “Again, I am very sorry to hear about your husband. I know well what it is to lose one so dear. We will never cease missing them, but it does become more bearable. But we wouldn’t want to lose the pain entirely, would we? Then it would be as if they hadn’t mattered.”

Mrs. Ellis nodded, tears filling her eyes again. “You are right. Entirely right.” She set aside her tea and got to her feet, becoming again the polite woman Rose had met the day before. “Take care of Steven, Your Grace. He deserves happiness.”

She squeezed Rose’s hands then let her go. Steven was beside Rose now, his hand on her elbow. “Good-bye, Laura,” he said firmly, and steered Rose out.

***

Not until they were in the carriage, moving through the streets toward the Langham did Rose venture to speak.

“If you don’t wish to talk of it, I understand,” she said to Steven, who’d taken the seat opposite her. “But I admit a healthy curiosity.”